He nodded, smiling as he slid the last button through the hole. “I do.”

Then I was in his arms and he was carrying me across the room, through the bedroom quickly, and straight into the bathroom. He put me down on the marble counter and pushed the blouse off my shoulders.

He trailed his fingertips from my shoulders down my arms, ghosted them down my torso and onto my legs, making goose bumps erupt everywhere. Reaching my feet, he pried my sneakers off each foot, then my socks, and then he pulled me to my feet. When he reached for the button on my jeans, I laid my hand over his, stopping him.

“Are we taking a bath?”

He batted my hand away, snapping my pants open and slowly sliding down the zipper. “Nope.” Gently pushing the denim over my hips, he lifted his eyes to mine. “We are going to get in that porn star shower and use it for what it was designed for.”

I glanced over his shoulder, trying to see said shower, but the curtain was pulled. Mike’s fingers, racing back up my legs, pulled my gaze away. When two fingers snuck under my lace panties and yanked, tearing them straight from my body, I jerked my eyes back to him. He merely raised a brow.

“You’re going to wash my hair?”

My bra was his next victim, and it went sailing over his head and across the room behind him. “Such a smartass.” His thumb traced my bottom lip. “I’m going to wash every single part of you, Miss Molly. But I’m going to get you very dirty first.”

I couldn’t breathe. The “every single part” of me he’d just mentioned jumped to attention, knowing what was coming. He stepped back, putting just a smidge of distance between us before yanking his own shirt over his head and then dropping his jeans. The man had gone commando. Good Lord, he was trying to kill me.

I wanted to touch him. I longed to run my fingertips down the deep ridge between his pecs, tracing the bumps of his six pack, then over his hard flat stomach. From there, I could walk my fingers to his hips and back, enjoying the shallow grooves that formed a v, leading straight to…

I completely lost my train of thought when I realized that he was once again bare. Bald. I did what I could to keep up with my ladyscaping while I was on tour, but the bus wasn’t really the best location to maintain a close shave, and there were no places along our tour route that I trusted for a drop-in wax. How in the hell did he find the time to keep himself hair free?

Unable to keep the thought to myself, I asked him. Instead of responding, he raised an eyebrow and watched me for a minute before he tipped his head back and laughed. The loud noise seemed to echo off the tiled walls, making it seem louder than it was.

I waited until he’d composed himself a little. “What in the hell is so funny?”

He only grinned. “Only you.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I’m standing here, buck ass naked, looking like this”—he glanced down at his body while motioning to the part of his anatomy that was pointing at me—“and the only thing you notice is that I shaved.”

I settled my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him, ready with a snappy comeback when I realized that his eyes were glued to my chest. I dropped my eyes, remembering too late that I was just as naked as he was and the girls were pushed out because of the way I was standing. I moved my eyes back to his face, rolling them when I saw that his were still glued to my boobs.

I gave them a little shimmy, just a little shake, making him groan. The entire situation was so absurd, a scene from someone else’s life—not mine—that I started to laugh. Within seconds, he’d joined me, and we were two naked morons cackling in a hotel bathroom until tears burned my eyes.

“Come on.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the shower a few minutes later. He hadn’t been lying—the walk-in shower was huge, with not only his and her showerheads, but one in the middle overhead, and had definitely been designed with sex in mind. I turned on the faucets, waiting only seconds until the water turned hot, and then I pushed him in.

The force of the jets was indescribable. I’d had orgasms that hadn’t made me feel as good as the pressure from them did. I rolled my chin on my chest, letting the water pelt my neck, and moaned.

“Christ,” the low growl came from next to my ear, “I fucking love it when you make that sound.”

“Yeah?” I laughed and leaned my head back, soaking my hair. I grabbed the shampoo bottle from the shelf and shoved it into his hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He sounded completely bewildered.

“Wash my hair.”

“Uh…” When he didn’t finish his thought, I started to turn, but his hands in my hair stopped me. It took him a few seconds, but he got the hang of it and was scrubbing my scalp in no time. As he rinsed it out a few minutes later, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder. “I’ve never washed anyone’s hair before.”

I turned, staring up at him. “Really? Well, you did a great job. My turn.” He didn’t move. “Turn around, silly, let me wash yours.”

He chuckled. “I’m five feet taller than you, kid. How in the hell are you gonna reach?”

“Shut it and turn.”

Thankfully, he bent his knees and scooched enough so I was able to reach his head. As I was rinsing the last of the suds out, I worked up the courage to ask the question that had been in the back of my mind for weeks. “I’m gonna be nosy, but…”

“Why don’t I have pubes?” Ugh, men! He laughed, wrapping me in a hug as he turned. “It’s started because I was gullible as shit.” He shrugged. “At boot camp, we heard horror stories about living in the desert. Some of the things that made life shit while you were there—brutalized feet, chapped lips, dry skin, bugs—were preventable. You wanted to make sure you had plenty of sunscreen, a large supply of ChapStick, foot powder to keep the moisture out of your boots, and collars to keep the fucking sand fleas at bay.”

He laughed. “Fuck, I was young. Before I headed out to A-School, I decided to try something the guys had joked about. I don’t hate bugs, Mols, but the idea of fleas invading my bush freaked me the hell out. So I did the only thing I could. I shaved the fucking thing off. But let me tell you, when that thing grows back in, it’s itchy as fuck. So I just kept shaving. When that got old, I started to wax.”

I leaned back, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

He pulled my hand down to the region of topic, moving my hand over where his hair would have been. He was smooth. “Seriously.” He reached behind me and turned off the water. Grabbing two towels from the rack on the wall next to the shower, he wrapped one around me before tying his own around his waist. With a hand on my back, he led me into the common room of our suite and to the bed.

“Come take a nap with me.”

“You don’t want to get ready for your family?”

He shook his head as he pulled back the covers on the California king. “I’ve slept like shit for weeks. I need you, in that bed, in my arms, now.”

I was exhausted. It had been weeks—ever since New York—since I’d slept well. Who was I to argue with such a sweet request?

When a ringing phone woke me up a few hours later, I didn’t want to move out of the Mike-cocoon I was wrapped in. He hadn’t gotten me dirty in the shower, but sleeping all tucked up in him was a million times better. The little kisses he kept dropping on my collarbone didn’t do much to convince me it was time to get up.

“Make it stop, Mols. For the love of God, make it stop.” He groaned when the phone started screaming again.

“That’s yours, silly. Not mine.” The ring was high and shrill, and extremely annoying. “Who would you give that ringtone to? It’s horrific!”

He chuckled against my neck, blowing on the skin slightly and making goose bumps appear everywhere. “Julie.”

I sat up. Shit! That meant they were here. In the hotel. And they wanted to see the man who was in my bed. Shit! “We gotta go!” His thick arms held me in place. “Mike!” I pushed against him, but he didn’t move.